. "I have but ten minutes left: so
good-bye."

His voice shook a little as he said it. In spite of every effort, her
fingers closed around his, and her eyes looked up at him with her whole
heart in their clear depths.

"Kate!" he exclaimed, the colour rushing to his face with a sudden
thrill of ecstasy, and his hand closing tight over the slender fingers
he held. "Kate!"

She turned away, her own cheeks dyed, not daring to meet that eager,
questioning look.

"Kate!" he cried, appealingly; "it is because I love you I am going
away. I never thought to tell you."

* * * * *

Five minutes later Grace opened the door impetuously.

"Frank, don't you know you will be la--Oh, I beg pardon."

She closed it hastily, and retreated. The Captain, standing in the
doorway, looked impatiently at his watch.

"What keeps the fellow? He'll be late to a dead certainty."

Grace laughed.

"There is no hurry, I think. I don't believe Frank will go to Germany
this time."

CHAPTER XXIII.

LONG HAVE I BEEN TRUE TO YOU, NOW I'M TRUE NO LONGER.

Far away from the blue skies, and bracing breezes of Lower Canada, the
twilight of a dull April day was closing down over the din and tumult of
London.

It had been a wretched day--a day of sopping rain and enervating mist.
The newly-lighted street-lamps blinked dismally through the wet fog, and
the pedestrians hurried along, poising umbrellas, and buttoned up to the
chin.

At the window of a shabby-genteel London lodging-house a young woman
sat, this dreary April evening, looking out at the cheering prospect of
dripping roofs and muddy pavement. She sat with her chin resting on her
hands, staring vacantly at the passers-by, with eyes that took no
interest in what she saw. She was quite young, and had been very pretty,
for the loose, unkempt hair was of brightest auburn, the dull eyes of
hazel brown, and the features pretty and delicate. But the look of
intense sulkiness the girl's face wore would have spoiled a far more
beautiful countenance, and there were traces of sickness and trouble,
all too visible. She was dressed in a soiled silk, arabesqued with
stains, and a general air of neglect and disorder characterized her and
her surroundings. The carpet was littered and unswept, the chairs were
at sixes and sevens, and a baby's crib, wherein a very new and pink
infant reposed, stood in the middle of the room.

The young woman sat at the window